


Until the Wave Breaks

by Talullah



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9711671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: The smell of war is in the air.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marchwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marchwriter/gifts).



> Written for the 2017 My Slashy Valentine.  
> OC names from http://realelvish.net/
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Lindon, 1600 S.A.**

Gil-galad stood by the open window, absently watching the relentless rain. The cold air was laden with the thick humidity of the sea, pervading through every surface into the very core of things. He could not see the sea from this wing of his halls but he could feel it rumbling low against the shore. 

Turning the signet ring on his finger, he wondered when Elrond would come from Ost-in-Edhil. He had been gone for longer than they had agreed and had sent no messages. Elrond could be trusted with anything but this prolonged silence…

Gil-galad placed his cold fingers to his eyelids and, for a moment, enjoyed the relief brought to his tired eyes. He inhaled deeply that mix of the smoky, warm air coming from the faltering fireplace and the cold, marine draft coming from the window before returning to his desk. There were still several letters to sign and a folder to read through before he could stop for the day. Besides, worrying benefited no one.

* * *

**A few days later…**

“Sire,” someone called from the door after a timid knock. He always left it ajar in the hour after lunch. It was the least productive hour of the day and he had determined that in that period, the staff and courtiers could reach him foregoing protocol. Everyone respected the unspoken boundaries of this arrangement, after a few initial incidents where Gil-galad had laid, in no uncertain terms, that idle gossip and favor-currying were not welcome.

At the voice, he swiftly turned. It was Erestor, Elrond’s kinsman. After all these years living under his roof, Gil-galad still felt a certain unease when he met him. Everything about Erestor was mysterious, but Elrond trusted him deeply, and Gil-galad had grown to trust Elrond over years and years of trustworthy, competent work and fierce, often-tested loyalty. Erestor had held a supporting role in many of these activities.

“Yes, Erestor?” he said, in an invitation.

Erestor stepped into the office. “Sire,” he started, wringing his hands, a gesture that unnerved Gil-galad every time. 

“I know it is now my business at all,” Erestor started, “but it has been over a month that we sent-”

“Elrond to Ost-in-Edhil, I know,” Gil-galad completed. “Come in, close the door.”

Erestor promptly obeyed.

“Sire, as you know, your herald has not been warmly welcomed in Ost-in-Edhil for the last few hundred years.”

“Yes, since Annatar settled himself there in the coziness of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. Pray do tell me something that I do not know.”

“Yes, Sire, please forgive me.”

Gil-galad squinted as Erestor apologized. He knew his reply was impatient on the verge of impolite and that Erestor’s obsequiousness grew exponentially with berating, as mild and mannered as it might be presented, which in turn lead to even more testiness on his part. They had been down that road many times.

“So, you are worried about Elrond,” he said, after a moment. “I am too. But I have no news for you at this moment.”

“I know, Sire. The purpose of this interruption, which I hope you can forgive is to propose, if you might overlook my boldness, that I try to find out what is going on.”

“You? And what do you propose to do? To go to Ost-en-Edhil as a courier of some message for Elrond? Celebrimbor would immediately recognize you. Besides, if I send you with an overtly unimportant business, they will suspect that there is something else afoot. If I send you with some heftier message, they will also know that it is a ruse because I would not be much of a king if I had not ways of solving problems in the absence of my herald.”

Erestor discreetly cleared his throat. “That is not quite what I had in mind, Sire, with all due respect.”

Gil-galad lifted an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Well, it is well known that the main road south has had some problems with up keeping...”

“You’re a master of euphemisms, Erestor.”

“Not entirely a bad thing, Sire,” Erestor quipped. Gil-galad lifted an eyebrow in surprise. The few moments when Erestor obliquely defended himself, always resorting to a subdued sense of humour always caught him off-guard.

“Well, the road is in very bad shape ever since trade started declining with Ost-in-Edhil, and with these last rains-“

“It is a bloody mess,” Gil-galad completed.

“So, if you were to order me, in the quality of your infrastructure aid, which I have been for some time now, and which is public knowledge, if you were to order me, I say, to ascertain the extent of the damage and elaborate a project for its recovery, I would have an excuse to be out in the field.”

“If it were to be done properly, and not raise suspicions, it would take weeks for a reconnaissance like that to reach Ost-in-Edhil.”

“True, Sire, but if, by ill-chance, I was to suffer an accident, I would have to lodge somewhere…”

Gil-galad frowned to avoid smiling. He knew he was being petty, not acknowledging that Erestor had found a discrete solution for their problem.

“Make sure it is not a broken leg or something that makes your swift depart from Ost-in-Edhil impossible.”

Erestor straightened his back. “Understood, Sire.”

“And Erestor,” Gil-galad added, as Erestor bowed before leaving. “Careful what you say. I do not want to be put in a position where I actually have to fix that road.”

Erestor nodded in understanding.

As Erestor left the room, Gil-galad recalled Elrond’s frequent words of advice. ‘Give him a chance. Your aversion is irrational. He is truly brilliant and thoroughly loyal.’ For sure, Erestor had only shown him loyalty, but he had also been loyal to Maedhros and Maglor, refusing to speak ill of them even after the bitter end. Elrond had been the same, though, and it did not bother him as much. It was only Erestor, with his secrecy and his deference that made him itch.

* * *

Erestor had set on his mission accompanied only by one topographer and one engineer. They were good sorts and were excited about the prospect of a large work of construction. Even if Erestor were at liberty to tell them that their endeavor was only for show, he would have paused before delivering the truth. There was no escort – despite his and Gil-galad’s unease the land was at peace.

Among the inner circle of advisers, Gil-galad was considered perhaps little paranoid, but Erestor tended to agree with him. Ost-in-Edhil had become too proud and too isolated from them. But, unlike Gondolin, Nargothrond or even his home, Doriath, it was set on an open plain, with no protection against an incoming enemy but ingenuity and a set of somewhat neglected outer walls. It was a time of peace, so people kept saying. But Erestor had seen enough to know that peace could be shattered from one moment to the other.

At present, there were two riddles for the king to solve. One was the stranger washed ashore in Forlindon, claiming to be Glorfindel of Gondolin, sent to help. If he was who he said he was, the Valar had a strange sense of humour, sending an unarmed, bedraggled, incoherent elf who had no credentials and nothing new to say. If he was a spy, well then, his guise might be the most absurd ever invented. Erestor had only met him twice, at Círdan’s halls, while accompanying Elrond. The supposed Glorfindel of Gondolin felt sincere. It would help, though, if he had more to offer than an air of honesty and an expressed eagerness to help.

The other was the most pressing – Elrond’s complete silence. Galadriel had left Ost-in-Edhil for Lothlórien in the beginning of the year, supposedly to give her daughter a chance to live immersed in her paternal culture. With her departure, they had lost the only pair of eyes in the city they could trust. They did know from a cryptic remark in her last letter that there had been some kind of breach between Celebrimbor and Annatar but, Galadriel had not been able to go into further detail and apparently, Annatar still lived in the city. The thought of meeting him again chilled Erestor to the core. He still had not forgotten those piercing ice-blue eyes, that mellifluous smile. Erestor shuddered in his saddle, prompting his mare to shake her head. Gil-galad was right – this was a road that was not to be fixed.

Interrupting his flow of thought, Brúnion, the engineer, signaled him and the topographer to halt. There was a small landslide on the slope supporting the left side of the road. Brúnion hopped off his horse and started inspecting the eroded slope. The road still held but Brúnion shook his head. 

“Another rain like that and this will collapse,” he said.

Anwen joined him and they started taking notes and measurements.

Erestor moved impatiently on the saddle. While he understood that his mission had to look real, he reeled whenever they had to stop. His initial plan was to ride straight to Ost-en-Edhil, alleging that it was the first reconnaissance and that in the round trip they’d stop for measurements. Gil-galad objected, not wanting him to show up at Ost-en-Edhil empty-handed. In his heart, Erestor conceded that he was probably right but he had thought, not for the first time, that Gil-galad had spent too much time with Círdan, becoming perhaps a little too careful at times. If he had dared to express that opinion, though, he would be sure to hear something bitter about his love for Fëanorian ways.

They were a little over half the distance to Ost-en-Edhil. This would be a good place as any to fall off the horse and maybe the only way to get Anwen and Brúnion to move. Erestor closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing his body to relax. He wanted to get hurt a little, not to fall like a sack of bricks. The faint sound of hooves startled him.

“Quick, hide,” he said to his puzzled companions. Anwen and Brúnion complied, even as they looked at him with raised eyebrows. The right side of the road had a few trees, not enough to properly hide them, but at least they would not be glaringly in the open.

They waited. After what felt like a small eternity, Gil-galad’s banner showed, followed by its bearer. Anwen moved slightly forward, but Erestor held her wrist. A few moments later, more riders became visible. It was only then that Erestor relaxed and let go of Anwen’s wrist. It was Elrond’s escort and Elrond rode in the center of the group, his spine straight, his eyes slightly squinted.

“Elrond!” Erestor called. The committee came to a halt.

“Erestor.” Elrond replied. He courteously greeted Anwen and Brúnion with a nod but did not move to dismount.

Erestor was flooded with relief, but from Elrond’s posture he could see that something was not quite well.

“Riding back to Lindon?” he asked.

“Yes,” Erestor said. Later he would have to apologize to Anwen and Brúnion for using them for cover, but from the lack of surprise in their faces, he surmounted that they probably had suspected something for a while.

Erestor, Anwen, and Brúnion joined the escort. Erestor rode by Elrond’s side. Quietly, he searched for his eyes. Elrond shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Later,” he whispered.

* * *

They rode straight to Lindon. They did not gallop but they did not stop for the night. The horses moved at a quick pace, almost a trot, under the tense riders. The gates opened before them and they entered Lindon silent and somber.

They rode for the stables and there, Elrond quickly dispensed his men, thanking them for their service and Erestor did the same with Anwen and Brúnion. Without a word, they walked to the west side of Gil-galad’s palace, taking a short-cut through the winter garden. Erestor looked up and saw Gil-galad waiting by the window.

“So?” he asked when they finally met him inside.

Elrond shook his head and looked around. The door was firmly closed and the walls were covered in tapestries, which dampened sounds. Still, he seemed apprehensive. “Celebrimbor has come to his senses, I think, but it is dire,” he said.

“Go on,” Gil-galad encouraged.

“It started with Annatar trying to turn the Gwaith-i-Mírdain against Celebrimbor. He pointed out that it was time to elect a new master, all the time pretending that it would just be a formality to ensure the statures were upheld. At the same time, he maneuvered to get himself elected. I think the next step would have been taking over the city politically, but Celebrimbor won the election by a short margin.”

“Yes, Galadriel had already sent message of some of this,” Gil-galad said. “She did not always have the most in-depth information about the guild.”

Elrond nodded. “Yes, that has always been difficult. By the time she left, we knew something was afoot but not the exact extent. Celebrimbor himself still had doubts if it was all in his head or if there was a real plot. In any case, he gave Galadriel a special gift. I brought back two of those same gifts…”

Elrond fumbled to reach inside his jerkin. Then, he proffered a rumpled handkerchief with a few stains. “Apologies for the wrapping. I did not dare to hide them away from me, so I tried to guise them as I could.”

Gil-galad pried open the dirty cloth. He immediately took the ring with the blue gem and fitted it on his middle-finger.

“Vilya,” Elrond said. “Celebrimbor said that it would beckon to you… something about recognizing each other. I could feel its power, its heart beating against mine all the way back.”

“And this?” Gil-galad said, touching the ring with the red gem.

“Narya. It is for Círdan to keep.”

“But not for Círdan himself?” Gil-galad asked.

Elrond shook his head. “I don’t know more. Celebrimbor was a different man, Gil. The pragmatism that was his hallmark all his life was gone, replaced by a fever. Annatar is gone from the city now and Celebrimbor is certain that he will return… for war. He is in a fever, running around rebuilding walls, designing war machines. But the city is riddled with spies…”

“Was that why you did not write?” Gil-galad asked.

“I did write. We knew mail was being intercepted and so I sent you a coded message with false information. It was a test of sorts. The regular mail is reaching its destinations a little rumpled but intact. You are now confirming what we suspected – this letter never reached its destiny. I suppose they could have copied it to decode later, and send the original on, but the woman who we think stole it was found murdered on the river. The letter was not with her.”

“Dire indeed,” Gil-galad said. 

He stared at Vilya for a moment. Then, he asked, “Erestor, go call Círdan, please and do put him up to speed.”

Erestor took his leave, knowing that the king, although forced to trust him because of Elrond, still withheld some things from his ears.

* * *

Círdan came in the late afternoon. Elrond and Erestor had had a chance to eat and to bathe and change clothes but neither had had time to sleep. They also had had no time to talk, and from Elrond’s expression when meeting Círdan’s companion, Erestor could see that he was surprised that Círdan had brought someone whose trustworthiness was still an unknown quantity. That was his case too. He wondered what had happened in Forlindon while he had been away.

They chit-chatted for a moment before the fire, holding glasses of cordial, for the sake of abating suspicions over a short-notice visit from Círdan. Then, they bid the courtiers good night and retired to Gil-galad’s office.

“Círdan,” he started. “I know you have come to trust Glorfindel but we still don’t know much about him – no offense,” he added, with a glance toward Glorfindel.

“Ereinion, the same way that you distrusted Annatar as soon as you laid eyes on him, I trust Glorfindel.”

Gil-galad pursed his lips. “Very well, then,” he said.

“I could excuse myself,” Glorfindel said, “but I do think you have something in your hand that will change our fates.”

Erestor glanced at Gil-galad’s hand but he was not wearing Vilya. ‘Figure of speech, silly,’ he thought. Glorfindel seemed quite self-assured, though, and was no longer hesitant or confused, as in the previous times Erestor had met him.

Gil-galad unconsciously rubbed the place where Vilya had been.

“They are very powerful,” Glorfindel said. “In life, I was a warrior, but after my time in Mandos I find that I see things more like our dear relative, Artanis.”

Gil-galad rose an eyebrow. “Fine.”

He pulled Vilya out of his pocket and placed it on his finger. Then he took Narya and handed it to Círdan. “Gifts from Celebrimbor,” he said.

Gingerly, Círdan took the ring and inserted it in his pointing finger. He closed his eyes, as if pained. “It told me,” he said, after a moment,” it told me, in my mind, with Celebrimbor’s voice, that I was only a keeper, and for a short while.”

“Celebrimbor and his riddles,” Gil-galad huffed.

“Maybe it was not a riddle,” Elrond said. “Like I have told you, Celebrimbor is changed. He seems to talk as if he has already died and sees beyond us, beyond our time. And he is living on intuition now.”

“Celebrimbor’s intuition has something to be desired,” Gil-galad growled.

“He took Annatar in out of eagerness to learn, not out of blind trust,” Elrond said.

“Irrelevant now.”

Círdan took the ring off and kept it in his palm, glistening under the candle light. “So, we take his gifts, which I suppose are secret, with no instructions on how to wield their evident power and do what? Hide them? Use them for war? For war is coming, no doubt about it. Wait for Celebrimbor to win it for us? Brace for an invasion?

“They will not reach us,” Glorfindel said. “But they will try.”

“So we wait?” Elrond asked.

“We wait,” Gil-galad said, turning Vilya in his finger before putting it away in his pocket. “We wait until the wave breaks.”

_Finis  
February 2017_


End file.
